


Paintball: a Trial Run for the Zombie Apocalypse

by Closetfic_er



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drama Queen Stiles Stilinski, Drunk Stiles Stilinski, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, Medicinal Butt Rubbing, Melodramatic Stiles Stilinski, Paintball, Poor references to Game of Thrones, Smooth Derek Hale, Theoretical Zombie Apocalypse, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closetfic_er/pseuds/Closetfic_er
Summary: "It’s a miniature example of how society will function in a time of little-to-no law and order, Derek. Like the end of times. Like when anarchy sets in after the zombie horde starts walking the earth.“





	Paintball: a Trial Run for the Zombie Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Because I didn't realise I hadn't transferred this across from Tumblr. I've updated it a tad since I posted it over there (~2 years ago!). 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as ShippyGoodness...come join me!
> 
> FYI: Derek owns a garage and is a mechanic. I don't know why.

Stiles is cleaning the lounge after another raging house party (i.e. another night spent at home by himself, drowning his sorrows in vodka and Ben and Jerry’s) when he first hears the noise.

It’s kind of like a cat.

A cat screaming for mercy as its tail is pulled by a 5 year old child. He can’t be sure, but he thinks that it would be the same sound heard from souls being tortured in hell.

He’s tempted to ignore it and head to bed, but he suspects he might know the culprit and, knowing that, he suspects he won’t actually get any sleep. Not until he deals with this.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, he yanks the back door open and steps out onto the porch. As he suspected, there’s a wolf lamenting to the moon in his garden bed. He’s probably squashed the tulips.

The horrid wailing stops as soon as the wolf catches sight of him, which is probably a good thing. Mrs Parker, the nosy old bat, would probably call the police otherwise. And the last thing Stiles needs is his dear old dad showing up to a ‘sounds of actual torture’ call.

It whimpers in his direction before dropping down to its belly to inch towards him, eyes shining with sadness. 

"No.“ 

It lets out another pitiful noise, tail sweeping slowly through the dirt as if propelling it forward. 

"No, you know what you did. You don’t get to try and crawl back into my life after a betrayal like that.“ 

The wolf whines again before returning to its human skin, bones crunching back into place rapidly. ”Stiles- “ 

”No, Derek.“ 

"Stiles, come on. It’s just-" 

"Don’t you dare say it-" 

"But it's just a-" 

"No!" 

"It’s just a game, Stiles!"

"It’s not ‘just a game’, Derek. It’s important." 

”It’s paintball.“ 

"It’s a miniature example of how society will function in a time of little-to-no law and order, Derek. Like the end of times. Like when anarchy sets in after the zombie horde starts walking the Earth.“

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Oh-o, I’m pretty sure you did. Here’s Stiles, being ridiculous again."

“Stiles, I-”

“No, no. I don’t even now how you can stand to talk to me, I’m so _ridiculous_.”

“Stiles, you’ve been drinking. Maybe you should calm down and think about this.”

“Why don’t you just shoot me again, Derek? This time, why don’t you aim for my fucking heart and get it over with!”

“Stiles! I’d never-”

“You’d never what, Derek? Hurt me? Well, news flash, Derek Hale: a paintball to the arse hurts!”

“I didn’t mean to shoot you in the arse, Stiles! I was aiming for-”

A deadly silence descends before Stiles breaks it, voice low.

“You were aiming for what, Derek? My leg? You were going to shoot your _own mate_ in the leg?”

“We were on opposite teams, Stiles!” 

“So that’s a good enough excuse to try and cripple your mate?”

Derek squawks indignantly. “They were paintballs, Stiles! There’s no way you would've been crippled!”

“In the Zombie Apocalypse you would've killed me, Derek. I wouldn’t've been able to run from the zombies. They would’ve ripped me to shreds. They would’ve feasted on my entrails. All because my _mate_ ,” Stiles sobs drunkenly, “ _shot_ me!”

Derek’s at a loss for words as he watches his intoxicated mate sob big crocodile tears on the back porch of their little bungalow. He’s not even sure how he got here, really. 

Maybe he should have listened to Scott and let Stiles cool off.

(”Derek. Listen. Stiles is my bro. Has been for years, but…He’s probably at home right now planning on a way to break into your Garage and trash the place as revenge for your ‘betrayal’. You should just hole up here for the night, batten down the hatches and let him get his drink on. Then start grovelling in the morning when he’s had a chance to settle a bit. Oh. And whatever you do: don’t tell him it’s just a game.”)

He takes a breath. He can do this. He can. He signed up for this.

(Well not this exactly. Nowhere in their mating ceremony did it cover ‘what to do in the case of a paintball tournament gone wrong’ or ‘how to contend with your mate’s drunken ramblings regarding the zombie apocalypse and how your real-life behaviour would affect his/her chances of survival in said fictitious situation’.)

“Baby. You know I’d never let that happen to you.”

Stiles sniffles, glaring at Derek with disbelieving eyes.

“Really, you know I wouldn’t let some damn zombies get their hands on you. Babe: I’m a _werewolf_. And you’re my _mate_. Protecting you from harm is the most important thing in my _life_. I’m like Ser Jorah, and you’re like Daenerys. Protecting you is my mission.”

Stiles seems to be contemplating this argument with suspicion.

“You think you’re clever.”

Derek looks on innocently.

“You think that calling me the Mother of Dragons is going to get you off the hook for shooting me in the arse.”

Derek waits.

Stiles muses. “You’re right. I’m just like the Khaleesi. Only better.”

“You sure are, baby. Hotter, too.”

Stiles side-eyes him. “You don’t get to touch my butt until the bruise heals.”

“Ok. It'll be hard, resisting you. But I know I deserve this punishment.” Derek hams it up, calf eyes at full watt.

“And if it’s sore, you have to do your magic no-pain fingers.”

“It's the least I can do for the love of my life.”

“And you have to get me whatever I want so I don’t have to move too much.”

“Of course. I can rub ointment into it to help it heal faster, if you want. Non-sexually, of course. Touching purely for medical reasons.”

Stiles considers this. “Ok. But you’re not allowed to get a boner. If I see boner, you'll be cut off from all medicinal butt rubbing. I’ll get Scott to do it instead.”

Derek nods solemnly, struggling against the urge to laugh. He can just imagine the look on Scott’s face when this tale is eventually told in all its hilarity.

Stiles rubs his backside before turning and striding back into the house. “Well, come on. You’d better get a start on that butt rubbing.”

“As you wish, Moon of my Life.”

Who says Derek doesn’t know how to use his words?


End file.
